


Me Wherever My Life Is Lived

by BetsyByron



Category: Brideshead Revisited - All Media Types, Cloud Atlas (2012), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, The Hour
Genre: Aliases, Bets, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Exes, Eye Sex, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Past, Past Relationship(s), School Reunion, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:43:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetsyByron/pseuds/BetsyByron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Charles Ryder bets Freddie Lyon will still not be over him and will hope to get back together at the reunion.</i>
</p><p>“Your friend Bel left another note.”</p><p>
  <i>If you do not show up and prove this fucker wrong, I will come and get you, Freddie Lyon.</i>
</p><p>Q had a humourless chuckle.</p><p>“Well.” He said. He turned to James with an apologetic look. “I guess we’re going to my high school reunion, love.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Me Wherever My Life Is Lived

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a crossover, but I mostly just grabbed the characters I wanted from other Ben Whishaw roles ^^"
> 
> Fluff, old friendships and broken hearts, taunts and new beginnings.

There were so many little things to notice and learn about Q. James always thought that if he had one definition to give of being truly in love, it would be this; knowing the little things. He wasn’t in love with a body, or even just a mind, or God forbid, with the idea of being in love. He was in love with a soul, and its countless facets – the quirks, the glitches, the surprises. The more he knew about his partner, the deeper and more irretrievably he loved him.

In spite of that, or maybe because of that, there were huge facts he did _not_ know about Q. His childhood, his family, in fact his entire history before that day at the National Gallery was a complete mystery. Hell, he didn’t even know his actual name. Since he’d moved in with him, he knew that his current alias was Robert Frobisher (which was strangely old fashioned and just as strangely endearing, but James would only admit to the first half), but the MI6, obtaining it through some scheme or other, redirected mail to his apartment from a number of other identities.

“You’re actually a cat, aren’t you?” James had told him one morning in the bed they shared, Q stretching and purring next to him. “You’ve even got the nine lives.”

James had now been living with Q for two months, and he was giving up his own apartment as soon as he found a buyer – he had preferred not to let the agency do it, giving himself the time to feel the situation for what it was, and potentially back up; although, as a matter of fact, the thought had not even once crossed his mind. Sharing a home with this man was immensely comfortable without being frighteningly domestic.

Not that it wasn’t nice to let himself enjoy being a little domestic from time to time. Now, for example, after slow and tender morning sex, he’d prepared breakfast while Q typed on his computer, and fed him the toast since he was too busy hacking Google to actually eat it before it was stone cold. Seeing as he wasn’t nearly done after that, James went on to opening the aforementioned mail.

After throwing away two special sales invitations addressed to Jean-Baptiste Grenouille (James quirked a brow as only comment, and Q muttered something about living in France for a couple of months) and putting aside a bill from a hotel in Morocco for Sebastian Flyte (whenever had Q gone to Morocco? When did Q ever leave Q-branch?), James opened a thick envelop with the name Freddie Lyon handwritten on it. This was the first time he’d seen that one name, and he tore the paper with a tingle of curiosity.

 

**_CLASS OF 2003 TEN FUCKING YEARS!!!_ **

“Oh.” James said with delight. “It’s your high school reunion. Jesus, _2003_. You’re such a baby.” He turned the envelope again. “Freddie Lyon, uh? Is that your name then?”

“It was my name in high school.” Q neither denied, neither confirmed, without looking up.

James didn’t say anything, his silence enough of an indication for Q to go on, which he did with a sigh. He always pretended to complain whenever James found out or wanted to know something personal about him.

“I’m MI6 material, James.” He said. “I’m an orphan and a runaway. I’d changed my name six times by the time I was in high school.” He had a small smile. “Between nine and eleven I went by John Keats. His poems were the first words I fell in love with.”

“Okay.” James smiled back. He didn’t mind not knowing. Knowing was final, boring, and as his mission reports usually showed, he liked surprises and improvisation a lot more. “So.” He asked. “Are you going?”

“Not even the slightest chance.” Q answered unemotionally, back to typing at the speed of light.

“Come on, it’s the big 1-0.” James said, tongue in cheek. And as a sudden thought crossed his mind, he added: “Ten years since you left high school already? So you’re twenty-eight?”

“Twenty-five.” Q corrected. He glanced up briefly. “I graduated early.”

“Of course you did.” James chuckled. “Freddie Lyon, orphan and runaway, skinny and short sighted, and a genius three years younger than everyone else. I’m starting to see why you don’t want to go.”

“You know me so well.” Q commented blankly, but with the faintest quirk of the lips James had come to spot and inwardly call a smile.

The agent smiled to himself, marvelling as he sometimes did at how much love he was capable of when it came to Q, and got back to the envelope. He read through the letter quickly – just your average invitation to a high school reunion letter, with the failed attempts at jokes and a few obscure references to the, allegedly, good old days.

“Bets.” He then read out loud, pulling another paper out. “What is that?”

“Oh, yeah.” Q actually stopped typing long enough to look at James with almost a fond look of remembrance on his face. “People in my class liked to bet about virtually anything, and they thought it would be more amusing than the usual _Most Likely to Succeed_ stuff. You could write up a bet about yourself or someone else.”

“That’s a rather nice idea.” James acknowledged. He looked down at the paper. “Freddie dearest”, he read, “here are your bets. Come to the reunion and find out who guessed right and who imagined wrong!”

Q frowned. “I didn’t bet on anything.” He said. “Oh, that means people bet about me. I’m not sure I’m going to like that.” He sighed, and clapped his computer close, and James wondered briefly how much of a hard time he’d actually had in high school if Google could wait until he’d taken the blow. “Alright, let’s have it.” He prompted.

“Alright.” James repeated, and started reading out the list. “Hector Madden bets Freddie Lyon is going to be on top of the world and come back to show everyone how mistaken they were about him.”

Q’s eyes widened slightly, and he titled his head in consideration of the statement. “Well, he’s not wrong.” He commented. “Bless Hector. I always knew this guy was a big softy.”

“There’s a note.” James continued. “Someone scribbled comments.”

Q took the paper from James’s hand and, surprisingly, recognized the round handwriting next to the print.

_I know I’m part of every committee and I organized this then and now, but promise I didn’t put him up to this. Straight from his heart!_

“Bel.” Q smiled. He read the next bet, “Bel Rowley bets Freddie Lyon will become so shaggable I will be forever proud to have been his prom date in junior high.” Next to it: _Can’t deny that one is me_.

“She’s not wrong either.” James observed, slipping a hand around Q’s waist and leaning in for a kiss, which the young man granted him. “Those two seem nice.” He then said.

“Yes.” Q said. “Contrary to what I let you believe a minute ago, most of them were, actually. I didn’t flaunt my genius, and my age and size made me sort of a mascot. They thought I was a loser, but a likable loser. Like a little bird that’s too scrawny to really be cute and that you feel pity for, but wouldn’t hurt.” Only then did he look back down at the letter, and the blood drew from his face.

“What?” James worried. In the absence of an immediate answer, he took the page from Q’s hands, and read the next bet.

_Charles Ryder bets Freddie Lyon will still not be over him and will hope to get back together at the reunion._

James remained silent for a few seconds, his brain urging him to find something to say before it became even more awkward.

“Your ex?” He asked.

It came out possessive if not a little angry. Nailed it, he mentally slapped himself.

Q snorted bitterly. “No.” He said. “We were never together. He was in love with my foster sister.”

“And you were in love with him.” James filled in the blanks. He did not comment the mention of any family.

“Sadly.” Q confirmed. “I even broke up with my boyfriend of then to tell him how I felt, but well.” He shrugged. His eyes then fell on the words again, and he facepalmed. “Oh God, that bastard!” He moaned. “I can’t believe he’d write something like that.”

“Your friend Bel left another note.”

He turned the paper towards him.

_If you do not show up and prove this fucker wrong, I will come and get you, Freddie Lyon._

Q had a humourless chuckle.

“Well.” He said. He turned to James with an apologetic look. “I guess we’re going to my high school reunion, love.”

 

***

 

James went up to the front desk as Q was “parking the car” – more likely having a panic attack, James suspected. He hadn’t asked him much, but he had read in the lines of his face how much he apprehended facing his old classmates again.

“They won’t even know.” Was the only thing he’d said. “How far I’ve made it in so little time.”

James had to admit, the IT programmer (and for himself, Royal Navy Commander, not that this wasn’t true) cover story was a lot let impressive than the reality of things. But they couldn’t exactly brag about saving the world and all the rest. Nobody would believe them, for a start.

“The main thing,” He’d answered, “is that you’ll show that idiot Charles Ryder how very completely over him you are.”

Some rather intense kissing had ensued, and Q had thanked James. It didn’t mean all his anxiety had vanished.

“Room for Freddie Lyon.” James asked the plump woman behind the desk.

“Yes!” She started rummaging cheerfully in her papers.

“You’re not Freddie.” A voice spoke behind James.

He turned to face an elegant, tall woman, with black curls cropped rather short and holding a lipstick-stained, but unlit cigarette.

“That I am not.” James replied with a smile.

She scanned him appreciatively.

“You his plus one?” She asked.

“Indeed.” He extended a hand. “James Bond, nice to meet you.”

“Lix Storm.” She answered, shaking the hand and returning the smile. “Well, little Freddie’s done well for himself.”

“Thank you.” James said.

“Hope you’re treating him well.” She added, only half humorously. “That kid.” She shook her head. “For all his brains, he was never very good with relationships. We dated for a week, and _I_ had to tell him he was probably gay.” 

“Well.” James commented. “He is well aware of the fact now and I’d say he’s at peace with it.”

She gave him another meaningful look, but didn’t pursue that line of thought. She lifted her cigarette instead.

“I direly need to go smoke this.” She announced. “I’ll see you tonight, I suppose.”

James agreed to that, and she made her exit.

 

***

 

Q was about to go up to the room to join James, when someone grabbed him from behind with a loud roar. It took all the self-control he possessed no to jab his elbow into the guy’s plexus and spin him to the ground. That kind of instinctive reaction and that range of self-defence skills would have been a little tricky to explain. Thankfully, the attacker released him quickly.

“Little lion man!” The man said entirely too loudly.

Q turned and forced a smile on his face.

“Ted.” He greeted his former classmate.

“How have you been?” Ted asked, still speaking at an unnecessarily loud volume. “New glasses?” He punctuated that with another loud roar, which Q suspected might have been laughter. “And how are your books? Still your best and only friends?

Q opened his mouth to answer/defend himself, but Ted was on a streak, and didn’t let him get a word in edgeways.

“Oh I guess you did have a few pity friends back then. Have you been adopted by anyone in your new life? Don’t mean to be insensitive because you’re, you know, an orphan and all, I just mean figuratively. Like a pet. You always were a bit of a pet. A cat. OR A LION!” He barked in laughter again. “Well, nice and brave of you to show up though, little lion man. Guess you need the social life! Who knows maybe Lucy will be looking for a boyfriend? The guys say she’s a librarian now so she’d be perfect for you. But she’s getting fat. Do you mind fat? Oh wait, weren’t you gay? Geez you check them all on the ‘ineligible young man list’ don’t you? Hey are you even still clever or was that a high school illusion because we were all stupid gits?”

There was a second of silence, and Q would have tried to answer this time, had his mouth not been hanging open in disbelief. He thanked the gods James hadn’t been standing next to him, because it seemed a little early in the weekend to punch someone in the face.

“Then again we probably still are!” Ted laughed, slapping him in the back again. “I’m a lawyer though. What do you do?”

“I’m in IT.” Q answered automatically, clenching his fist around the strap of his bag. He swallowed back a few other comments then, and just went with sarcasm. “And if you’ll excuse me, I have to go be sad and alone in my room now. Maybe read a book or two to prepare myself to handle so many _people_.”

And even if Ted might have missed it, laughing again and yelling a cheerful “See you later!”, the rhyme was perfectly clear.

 

***

 

“I’m already regretting this.” Q sighed, nuzzling against James on their hotel bed.

They had granted themselves twenty minutes before they had to start getting ready for the evening. No sex, on a common, unspoken agreement. It didn’t seem like a right time for it. Just cuddling, and enjoying each other’s warmth.

“I’m here.” James answered.

“Yes.” Q had a soft chuckle. “Thank God.” He traced the outline of James’s face with his fingers. “Maybe they won’t even notice I’m here, with you next to me. You tend to attract all the attention in a room. Especially in a tux.”

James caught Q’s index in his mouth and sucked gently on it. His way of saying it didn’t matter, since he himself would only have eyes for the young Quartermaster.

“Alright then.” Q sighed, heaving himself up to plant a kiss on James’s lips before he got off the bed. “Let’s go.”

They got dressed and ready, and made the short walk from their room to the hotel reception hall hand in hand. They let go when they passed the doors of the crowded room, if only because two already amply drunk women (whom Q didn’t recognise for the life of him) barrelled past them, almost knocking them both to the floor.

“Soooorryy!” One for them laughed hysterically over her shoulder, before running (in a beeline) off.

“Freddie!” Another slightly hysterical voice cried at them before they recovered.

A blond woman, whom James could only guess was Bel, given the smile on Q’s face, rushed towards them and caught the younger man in a bone-crushing hug.

“You came, oh I’m so glad! I missed you so much! How have you been?”

She stepped back to look at him, and bit her lip gleefully.

“Gosh, I win, you’re hot!”

Only then, and before Q could give a word of answer, did she notice James.

“Oh, that goes for you too, whoever you are…” She whistled.

Q rolled his eyes.

“How many drinks have you had already?” He scolded his friend softly. “You have no filter when you’re drunk, Bel. Anyhow, this is James. James, Bel Rowley, you’ve heard of her.”

“Indeed I have.” James replied. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet _you_ …”

“Bel.” Q intervened, territorially. “He’s taken.”

Bel opened her mouth as in shock. “Wait, he is yours?” She grabbed Q’s arm. “I mean, I assumed he was a friend of yours, but is he like your _boyfriend_?”

Q frowned slightly at the term, but James smiled a smile that melted his heart, and he gave a short nod of confirmation.

“I’m the man who fell in love with him at first sight.” James completed.

Q looked over at him with surprise. “You never told me that.” He noted. “You kind of blew me off the first time we met.”

“I was on the job.” James justified. “I didn’t expect it to take such a lovely form. I can’t honestly say I wasn’t intending to trek the entire museum to look for you after my meeting, but then and there you were an unfairly beautiful distraction.”

“Okay you guys.” Bel stepped in, grinning like a maniac. “Save the eye-sex for a bit later.”

“Yeah.” James shook his head. “I’ll get us drinks, you two catch up.”

As soon as he had his back turned – after looking at his ass walking away – Bel made an impressed face at Freddie.

“My God he’s _gorgeous_!”

“I know.” Q grinned.

“Would never have guessed a guy like that… Sorry, stereotype.” She caught herself. “But he doesn’t look too gay. He looks like a total ladies’ man.”

“He is.” Q had to admit with a slight wince. “Well, was, at any rate.”

“Frederic Lyon.” Bel said appreciatively. “Did you make this man gay for you? You have game, my friend.”

“Weirdest things have happened.” Q shrugged. “So how have _you_ been?” He diverted before she asked how they met in more details, or indeed what either of them did for a living.

Luckily, Bel was talkative.

 

***

 

A guy approached James at the bar, a little tentatively, as if he wasn’t sure he should be talking to him in the first place, but still hesitated between punching him in the face and apologizing. Maybe both, not necessarily in that order. In the end he held up a hand.

“Hi.” He said. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“No, I’m a plus one.” James confirmed.

“I know.” The man nodded gravely. “I saw you with Freddie. Oh, my name is Rufus Sixsmith.”

“James Bond.” James offered back. “Nice to meet you.”

“I uh…” Sixsmith let his gaze err towards Freddie, over there, and he seemed to forget what he had intended to say. “We…” He started again, but shook his head and looked at the floor, muttering something James thought was _Never mind_.

James didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but he thought he guessed. He didn’t say anything, taking advantage of the fact that the barmaid was ready to take his order. The two men stood in silence while she served him, and Sixsmith spoke again as James was about to lift the glasses off the counter.

“Are you happy?” He asked all of a sudden.

“Beg your pardon?” James was caught off guard.

“Is he happy?” Rufus amended, his voice softer, almost afraid to ask.

James took the time to think about his answer, if only to give the man the assurance it would be honest.

“I like to believe he is.” He said. “Yes. I do hope he’s as happy as he makes me.”

Sixsmith nodded again, with the hint of a smile, albeit a pained one.

“I’m glad.” He commented. “He broke my heart, all those years ago.” He revealed. “But I never wanted him to be unhappy.”

James couldn’t help but give him a slightly concerned look. Was he still hung up on Q ten years after a high-school romance? Not that Q was anywhere near easy to forget, granted, but the man’s life must have been miserable if he really-

“Oh don’t worry.” Sixsmith interrupted his train of thoughts, probably reading some of it on his face. “I’m not… I met someone, I, well, I’m not with anyone at the moment, but that’s another story, what I mean is, I’ve long been over our story. It was, obviously enough, over ten years ago. I’ll always have affection for Freddie of course, but then again you never forget your first love.”

He concluded that with a short sigh, and it was obviously time for him to retreat.

“Well, anyway.” He wrapped up. “It was night meeting you, James. You take care.”

 _Of him_ remained unspoken, but in the way James answered “I will”, they knew they were both on the same page.

 

***

 

When James got back to where he left Q and handed him his drink, he instinctively slid an arm around his waist and kissed his temple, eliciting a smile from the young man, and causing Bel to fan herself with her hand and waggle her eyebrows.

“Want me to give you a minute?” She offered. “I’m going to go get Hector, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you, Freddie. And to meet you, James.”

She dashed, and Q sighed, but James did take advantage of that respite to kiss him, thoroughly. They were interrupted by a resounding “WOW!”

Turning, Q recognized Ted again. He was a lot more inebriated, and slightly more flabbergasted than earlier in the lobby. In fact, he was looking at James in utter amazement.

“Is he your broyfiend?” He spluttered. “You’ve a friend? Someone alive? You’re his?” He turned to James.

“I’m his.” James only confirmed with a smile.

“Wow.” Ted repeated, seemingly recovering some lucidity – the next words came out almost not slurred. “I’m…glad.” He said.

“Uh. Thanks.” Q frowned.

“No, really.” Ted insisted, and patted Q’s shoulder awkwardly. “No-one should be alone.” He then pointed his finger at James unsteadily. “You sir, treatmwell, yeah? You be a food boy’s band.”

The sobriety hadn’t lasted, to say the least, but Q appreciated the intention, and gave Ted a little wave as he stumbled away again.

“Well that was weird.” He commented when the man was out of earshot.

“I have a question.” James asked.

“Shoot.” Q authorised. 

“Were you lying, minimizing, or is that really how you see yourself?” James half accused, half questioned.

“What do you mean?” Q frowned.

“A likable loser, someone you feel pity for?” James quoted him. “Q, they are all _in love_ with you.”

“They are not.” Q scoffed.

“Bel is, in a friendly but very obvious way.” James pointed out. “Your other friend Hector. That woman Liz, whom I met at the reception. This weirdo just now. Those girls.” He lifted his chin towards a group of three ladies who waved excitedly at them, and whom they could hear comment about how ‘darling Freddie’ looked good and happy and how they were perfect together, although it was a shame he was lost to their team. “This Charles person who would never have written something like that if he had been completely indifferent back then. Your ex.”

At that, Q stopped him by lifting a hand between them.

“Wow, what? What ex?” He asked worriedly.

“One Rufus Sixsmith.” James indicated.

Q dropped his hand on James’s chest and lowered his head, feeling embarrassed and slightly guilty.

“Oh, you met Sixsmith. Is he… okay?” He asked hesitantly.

“He is.” James tried to sound convincing. “He had ten years to get over you, although I do feel sorry for him. I feel sorry for everyone who doesn’t have my luck.”

He picked up the Quartermaster’s hand where it rested below his shoulder, and kissed the warm palm.

“I love you.” He said. “And whatever choices you made ten years ago and since, they led you to me. Every person here who wanted, or indeed still wants you, I’m glad they were too early, and are now too late.”

“Stop it.” Q laughed nervously, looking down again. But he squeezed James’s hand back, and they both knew that meant _I love you too_.

 

***

 

Bel had come back with Hector, who had soon gotten into an animated discussion with James about politics, and declared he couldn’t talk about that without smoking at least one cigarette; James had taken him up on his offer, and they’d headed outside, continuing to talk – increasingly agitatedly as far as Hector was concerned.

“Your boyfriend is the type of guy everybody loves, isn’t he?” Bel teased Q.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Q moderated, thinking briefly about all the enemies James had made mission after mission. “But yeah, he knows how to please.”

“Uh-oh.” Bel said. “Here’s one who won’t be too pleased.”

Q straightened unconsciously as Charles Ryder made his way up to them.

“Hello.” He smiled at him, ignoring Bel completely.

“Hi.” Q replied soberly.

All at once, he realized that Charles looked good, with that entrancing smile of his he still had, and that he couldn’t care less. And that he wanted James to be back here and kiss him again. He didn’t even know why he’d gotten worked up about that bet, or even about Charles at all, ten years ago. Well, he did, to be absolutely fair, Charles was charming. If he was even more honest, and if he didn’t know James, Q had to admit he would have been half tempted to revive an old flame and see where they could go from there. If comforted him, strangely. At least he had always had decent taste in men, and nothing about having been in love with Charles was insulting to himself – or to James.

“So.” Charles said. “How are you?”

“Thriving.” Q answered. “And yourself?”

“Oh, I’m alright. Hey, look.” He opened his hands in an apologetic stance. “I felt kinda stupid when I got the letter, that bet I wrote ten years ago…”

“Yes, it was stupid.” Q confirmed – Bel snorted next to him.

“Although.” Charles tilted his head, still ignoring her. “I was being moronic at the time, but I can’t help but wonder now.”

“I’ve been over you for almost ten years, Charles.” Q rolled his eyes. “You were a fantasy, it was never real and it ended as soon as you were out of my sight.”

“Oh no, that’s too easy.” Charles laughed. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to buy you a drink.” Q opened his mouth, but the other raised a hand to stop him from speaking while he went on. “One hour is all I’m asking for.”

“I have a boyfriend.” Q tried to argue. “That should be proof enough.”

Charles laughed again, scornful this time. “Well, your, if you ask me, potentially fake boyfriend can take a hike, and we’re going to spend an hour catching up.” He exposed. “And _then_ , you can tell me that again, and we’ll see how honest it sounds.”

Q liked nothing of that, but before he could smooth his features out of their frown and think of an appropriate way to answer, Charles came back with a last taunt:

“Or are you afraid?” He poked.

 “For fuck’s sake-” Bel started.

“You’ll only be wasting your time.” Q sighed, landing an appeasing hand on his friend’s arm, who shut her mouth reluctantly. “But if you want. One drink. One hour.”

If Charles’s smirk was any indication, he thought he had already won.

 

***

 

When James came back, and looked around for Q, Bel pointed her finger towards the bar and informed him grimly: “He’s with Charles.”

“What is he doing?” James asked. “Isn’t that the guy he came here wanting to punch in the face?”

Bel reported the conversation that had occurred, an animated discussion with Hector and three cigarettes ago, quoting Charles through gritted teeth.

“Excuse me?” James said all too calmly, detaching his gaze from Q for a moment to stare at the young woman.

“Yeah.” Bel scoffed. “He’s convinced Freddie is going to swoon all over him by the time the hour is up.” She looked at her watch. “He only has about ten minutes left. Look at him getting desperate. At this point I don’t even know if he really, _really_ wants to win, to show everyone, or if he’s actually so hung up on getting Freddie back that I should feel sorry for him.”

Indeed, Charles was clearly leaning closer to _Freddie_ by the minute. He had been resorting to light touches for the past quarter of an hour, and if Q didn’t respond to them, he didn’t seem overly uncomfortable either.

But then, the brunette looked up, and over to James, and a corner of his mouth quirked up uncontrollably, so honestly that James felt his heart pinch. And James suddenly felt a painful clarity, the kind that made him think all at once _How did I get there?_ and _Why didn’t I get there sooner?_

“Excuse me.” He repeated to Bel, this time to take his leave, before he walked up to the two men at the bar.

He sensed her, more than saw her, flail and follow him, not quite daring to hold him back.

“Sorry.” James interrupted Charles in the middle of some explanation about the perks of speaking a foreign language (James had a vision of Q yelling at a Korean contact _in Korean_ and gave him a warm smile – which the young man returned with curiosity, and a warmth in his eyes that gave James all the assurance he might have been missing to proceed with his impulse). “I need to speak to you.” He told Q.

“My hour is not up.” Charles replied before Q could. “We have a thing going on here, so if you could wait?” He added condescendingly.

“It can’t wait.” James said – and suddenly, it really couldn’t. He sounded excited, where he had wanted to speak coldly, but just looking at his boyfriend made his voice both mellow and giddy.

“Well then, you’ll have to say it in front of me.” Charles continued on his petulant streak.

For some reason, a circle seemed to have formed around them, and comments were gushing out in hardly discreet whispers here and there.

_“Ten pounds on Charles.”_

_“Twenty on Freddie’s boyfriend.”_

_“Five pounds this ends up in a three-way.”_

That last one was Ted, unsurprisingly.

“Go on then.” Charles prompted, seeing as James had ignored him and was still looking at Q.

“Charles.” The latter tried to intercede, starting to suspect it might have to do with work. “If you could maybe give us-”

“Fine.” James snapped at Charles, interrupting Q. But he turned to him then, stepped closer, and removed his glasses from his face with a smirk, in a gesture that was somehow so intimate – it helped him forget they had an audience, blurry as they became in the sides of his vision, and it reminded him of the times James took him to bed – that it made Q blush.

Equals parts short-sighted and fascinated by his lover’s smile, that damn smile that made you wonder what secrets even were, Q would always associate this exact moment with the intense blue of James’s eyes sparkling with love, exhilaration and _confidence_ (that cheeky bastard) as he uttered the four most unexpected words he could have uttered.

“Will you marry me?”

There could hear Bel gasp over the loud music – although Q had the feeling the world silenced for a moment. Just a moment, since it was all it took for him to smile, and answer James a simple

 

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> btw that title's Whitman


End file.
